Combat is a bit hard to describe, at least for me. Others may describe it as a rush, a struggle, but that was never my experience. Whenever an enemy attacked, everything would seem to slow down except my racing thoughts, and then I’d read my opponent’s motions to see what attack they were telegraphing so I could counter it. I wouldn’t panic, because I knew my abilities were enough to kill anyone, perhaps even the theoretical Ultimate Shade. That’s what my mother and my fairy told me, anyway.
I wonder what would’ve happened if I didn’t believe them.
Suravi could barely follow the battle as it raged on. It’d been several minutes already, but neither side showed any signs of slowing down. It was all a blur, really, but she was entranced nonetheless.
On one side, there was Tarot, whizzing about in his white cloak, doing some kind of motion with his right hand that sent five cards flying out to hover in a wide circle. A moment later, a white sheen covered the area between the cards — just as Clover lunged at him, rod outstretched. Suravi winced as Clover slammed into what was apparently a magic shield.
It only took a second for Clover to recover, but in that moment, Tarot was on her, firing a beam of what looked like moonlight from his left hand. The beam hit her right in the gut, and she skidded backwards about a foot, almost toppling over. Letting out a grunt of pain, Clover drew back the hand not holding her wand thing, curled it into a fist, then punched Tarot’s shield with all her might.
Suravi could only gape as fire spread from Clover’s fist, the flames moving in five orderly lines, heading straight to the cards that bordered the shield. Tarot, for his part, was still wearing that arrogant smirk of his, but his right hand was shaking.
Just as the fire was about to reach the cards, Tarot pulled his hand back, cards flying back into his pockets, and jumped back just as the shield faded. Clover stumbled forward awkwardly, her fist still held out, and Tarot grabbed it. His hand began to glow slightly as he tightened his grip; Clover let out a yelp of pain, then hit Tarot’s wrist with her rod, causing him to release her and lurch back.
Clover just glared at Tarot for a moment, rubbing her now-damaged glove. “This is your only warning. Leave, and you’re off the hook for tonight.”
“Oh, my only warning? That’s funny; I thought you said the same thing last time we fought.” Without moving his head, Tarot flicked his gaze to Suravi for a second. “Do you want to know what happened that day, Suravi?”
Suravi shook her head slowly, still a bit dazed, but aware enough to know that she really didn’t want to hear another word out of Tarot’s mouth.
“Really? Oh well. Suffice to say Nick here —” and with this Tarot shot another moonlight beam at Clover — “didn’t manage to save anyone. He barely even managed to stop himself from falling off a nine-story building.”
He?
Shaking the thought out of her head, Suravi turned her focus back to the battle.
Clover had dodged the beam by a hair, but another one came her way a second later, and this time, she wasn’t so lucky. It grazed her side, which seemed to be a sensitive spot, because she let out a yelp of pain and lurched to the side.
“Hey, can you stand?”
Suravi whipped around at the sound of a voice behind her, coming face to face with a white bird about the size of a pigeon. “What?”
Really, the talking bird shouldn’t have surprised her, after everything that’d happened today, but she couldn’t help taking in a sharp breath.
The bird was rather eye-catching, with white feathers so bright they practically glowed in the dark. It didn’t move its golden beak when it talked, and yet its voice — that of a girl a bit older than Suravi — rang out clearly. “I can’t really explain right now,” it — she? — said, jerking her head in the direction of the battle, “but if you can walk, I can guide you out of danger.”
Suravi tried to get up, but her legs buckled beneath her and within a few seconds, she was down on her knees. “I don’t think — well, I — I mean, I’m still a bit dizzy, and —”
“Hey, it’s okay,” the bird said, obviously trying to be soothing, though her voice shook a bit. “Just stay here. I won’t let him hurt you.”
Suravi must’ve given the small bird a dubious look, because her feathers ruffled and she let out a small hmph. “Allow me to demonstrate.”
If the bird hadn’t been glowing before, she certainly was now. She unfurled her wings — they were gold on the underside, Suravi noticed — and held them up, spreading them to their full length. For a moment, nothing happened, and the bird’s wings shook with effort. Then, without warning, a speck of light glimmered into existence right over Suravi’s head, quickly expanding until it formed a mostly transparent dome around her and the bird.
“There,” the bird said, wings still outstretched. “A force field.”
Curious, Suravi reached out and tapped a finger to the closest wall of the dome. Sure enough, it was completely solid, and slightly warm as well. Looking down at the bird, Suravi noticed that her wings were trembling even harder than they were before.
“How long can you hold this?” Suravi asked hesitantly.
“Not sure, to be honest,” the bird replied. “This is my first time doing a whole force field; we fairies usually just do quick shields to block the occasional attack, but I figured this would be better.”
Okay, that wasn’t very reassuring. Suravi’s stomach dropped as she heard Clover cry out again from beyond the dome. Risking a glance at the battle, she saw Clover crash into the wall, then fall to her hands and knees, gasping for breath. Tarot didn’t waste a moment, shooting another beam at her, which hit the pavement as she rolled to the side and got to her feet in one graceful motion.
Bringing her right hand back, Clover gripped her wand thing tightly, then rammed it forward into Tarot’s abdomen. Tarot, unfazed, reached down and grabbed for the wand, but Clover jumped back before he could pull it from her grasp.
“Jessica will be fine,” the bird muttered in a shaking voice. “She’s strong, she can handle him.”
Suravi turned back to the bird, wondering if she really believed what she was telling herself. “Jessica?”
“That’s her name as a normal girl,” the bird explained. “Lucky Clover is her alter ego as a magical girl.”
“Magical girl?”
“Look, I’ll explain everything later,” the bird said, trembling not just in her wings, but her whole body now. “Let’s just say that Jessica had to use a special Trump Card to transform herself into Lucky Clover. That’s why she looks that way, and why she’s so durable and agile.”
“Trump Card…” Suravi mumbled, glancing back and forth from the heroine outside to the little bird keeping the dome up. Straightening up a bit, and raising her voice to an audible level, she added, “I have one, apparently.”
The bird nodded. “Yes, I can sense it.” Cocking her head, the bird continued, “Weirdly enough, it seems to be —”
“Embedded in my chest,” Suravi finished. “Tarot told me.”
There was a short period of silence after that. The bird appeared to be deep in thought, while Suravi looked down at herself. Knowing that there was some sort of object implanted under her skin was disconcerting, to say the least, and the more she thought about it, the faster her heart pounded.
“I suppose,” the bird began, “that since you’ve already bonded with the card — quite literally, in your case — you could potentially transform as well.”
Suravi’s mouth opened, but she had no idea what to say. Sure, she’d sometimes read books, watched movies, that sort of thing, and wished that her life was more exciting like that; who hadn’t? Still, that had just been a passing daydream. She was grateful for her normal, stable life. And now, here she was, up to her neck in magic and adventure, and all she could feel was fear.
She didn’t want to fight Tarot. She didn’t want to be hit with light beams and slammed into walls.
She didn’t want to die.
“I don’t mean you have to fight,” the bird said hurriedly, probably having seen Suravi’s growing panic. “I meant that transforming could give you the energy and stamina you need to get away.”
That was probably true, but Suravi still felt hesitant. Somehow, the idea of transforming felt like a contract of sorts. She’d become a magical girl like Clover if she transformed, right? The title felt heavy, like an obligation. Clover was so confident, so brave. She’d saved Suravi’s life, hadn’t she? Next to her, Suravi could never measure up. She was plain, cautious, scared —
Another shriek from Clover, this one more pained-sounding than the rest, reminded Suravi that her life hadn’t been saved quite yet. If Tarot killed Clover, he’d probably kill Suravi too.
“Clover’s going to win, right?” Suravi asked. When no reply came, she asked again, in a squeakier voice, “Right?”
“She’s pretty new,” the bird admitted after a moment, “but she’s doing just fine. I mean, she’s not exactly the strongest, but…” Her gaze settled on Suravi. “I’m not being very reassuring, am I? Sorry.”
Suravi didn’t reply. She was fixated on the battle once again, but this time, her focus was on Clover’s face.
Clover looked so determined, so passionate, like a real heroine. Like something Suravi could never be.
Her hands were shaking, though. Was she scared? Was she doubting herself, just like Suravi?
Tarot hit Clover again, this time in the chest, and as she was sent flying back, the mask finally came off. The determined look slipped from her face, replaced by one of pain. Her eyes were watering, her lips were pale, and she was shaking all over. She clamped a hand over her mouth a second too late to stop the vomit from coming out, splattering on the pavement. Now, with her dress stained with vomit and a bit of blood, torn near the bottom, she didn’t look like some magical heroine anymore.
She looked like a girl around Suravi’s age, dressed in a frilly costume, fighting for her life, and losing.
She didn’t want to die, did she?
Neither did Suravi, and because of her cowardice…
Another beam hit Clover, striking her left knee, toppling her over, and just as she started to rise, one hit her right at the base of her neck.
This time, when she fell, she didn’t get back up.
Suravi covered her mouth and fought back a scream.
Tarot’s next attack came all too fast — no taunting, no hesitation — but a second before it could land, a shield not unlike the bird’s force field blinked into existence right above Clover, stopping the beam. At the same time, Suravi became aware that the force field around her was gone without a trace.
“I’m sorry,” the bird whispered, her voice cracking with effort.
Tarot looked slightly annoyed, but when he spoke, it was with a small laugh. “That won’t last a minute.”
As if to prove his point, he once again sent out five cards to form his own shield, then smashed it against the shield protecting Clover. It didn’t break, but as the two shields pressed up against each other, there was a terrible sizzling noise, and small wisps of smoke — or maybe vapor — began to leak from the point where they touched.
Clover didn’t seem to react; she’d gone limp, her eyes unfocused. If it weren’t for her chest moving up and down with her ragged breaths, Suravi would’ve thought she was dead.
“Su-Suravi,” the bird hissed out, pain evident in her tone, “when that shield falls, I want you to activate your Trump Card — say Ace of Spades, show my hand — and then I want you to run.”
The shield had begun to flicker from bright to dim, and parts of it had evaporated completely — little holes growing wider with each second. It wouldn’t last much longer. Soon, it would disappear completely, just like the force field, and then…
And then Suravi would run while Clover died.
In her head, Suravi could hear the screech of the brakes, the sound of the car windows shattering. Was this some kind of fucked-up bargain? Some deal where she got to live at the cost of someone else’s life?
The shield was almost gone now, slipping away as her mind raced, and it flickered once more before it began to finally sputter out for good.
At that moment, Suravi stood.
She was still dizzy, and she swayed heavily with each step, but the adrenaline was coming back, and with each moment, it was easier to move. A few feet behind her, the bird let out a strained sort of warble; perhaps she was too exhausted to speak but had still realized that Suravi was walking the wrong way, that Suravi was walking towards Tarot.
“Get away from her.”
The words didn’t come out nearly as threatening as Suravi wanted them to sound. Her voice was all squeaky and still much too quiet. Still, Tarot must have heard, because he turned his head toward her.
Not moving his still fully-formed shield at all, he replied, “I won’t. You know I won’t, so why are you even trying?”
Suravi pressed a hand to her chest, where the Trump Card supposedly was. “I don’t want anyone to die because of me.” Feeling a sudden surge of bravery, she straightened up a bit and added, “If you had even a shred of decency in your body, you’d understand.”
The shield above Clover was gone now, but Tarot was still looking at Suravi and didn’t seem to have noticed. His own shield was still held above where the other had been, unmoving.
“I do understand, love,” Tarot said, almost gently. “But you need to understand that you can’t do anything here. You’ll just get yourself killed.”
He says that as if he won’t be the one who kills us, Suravi thought, now thoroughly pissed off.
There really was no point in talking to him, was there?
Though her hands were shaking, Suravi balled them into fists, then reached into whatever inner storage of courage she had left. Her gaze flicked over Clover, and as she looked at Clover’s eyes, she realized that Clover was staring right back at her.
I can do this.
Lifting her head, Suravi turned her gaze to Tarot and glared at him as hard as she could.
“Ace of Spades, show my hand!”
Darkness immediately overwhelmed her vision.
Blue.
The world was blue — a dark blue, to be sure, but not black, and this was what alerted Suravi to the fact that she was still conscious. Her eyes were still open, and they took in an endless sea of dark blue. It swirled around her, above her head, below her feet. There was nothing else to see.
Suravi then realized that she was holding her breath.
Her lungs began to ache, but she couldn’t just open her mouth for air; she was underwater, right? The water around her was somewhat warm and felt odd in a way that she couldn't quite put her finger on, but that wasn’t important, was it? There was no air, nothing to breathe. She had to get to the surface.
Suravi had never been a good swimmer, and she inwardly cursed this fact as she flailed her limbs, trying to form one of those swimming positions she’d been taught so long ago. Cup with the arms, kick with the legs, right? And yet she couldn’t feel herself rising at all — or, for that matter, sinking. Was she even swimming in the right direction? She couldn’t see the light of the surface anywhere.
Her lungs weren’t just aching anymore — they were screaming for air. Her fingers and toes were starting to get that pins-and-needles feeling, but she couldn’t open her mouth, that would just let the water in, and yet her body didn’t seem to understand this, and against her will, her mouth snapped open…
The moment the water hit her tongue, she knew it wasn’t water: it was ink. It was ink, and it was seeping down her throat and into her lungs, and yet she wasn’t drowning at all. As the ink filled her, her body immediately went back to normal, as if she was breathing air instead of ink.
The ink was warm, her whole body was warm, but her chest was warmer, and for the first time, Suravi could actually feel the card that’d been inserted there. She could feel how every edge pressed up against her insides, and yet it didn’t seem to hurt, or even feel out of place. Somehow, the card felt…right, though Suravi couldn’t think of why.
The ink around her was condensing now, solidifying. It was solidifying around her arms, her torso, her waist, forming what felt like cloth, though she couldn’t quite see it. It settled into her hair, and then it was her hair, or at least a continuation of it, feeling more natural than any extension.
Then, with no warning whatsoever, Suravi found herself rising, propelled by the strongest current she’d ever felt. She rose up and up, whooshing past what must have been almost a kilometer of ink in seconds. Were this a normal day, Suravi would have questioned why the unnatural speed wasn’t harming her, but by this point, she’d figured that she just needed to chalk everything up to magic.
Finally, the ink began to lighten, and when Suravi looked up, she could see the surface — and then she was on top of the ink-sea, which was now solid as glass, forming a platform beneath her feet. There was nothing around her, only a blank white sky with nothing in it.
Scratch that — there was something there. When Suravi turned, she saw a full length mirror, one just like the one in her room back in Dhaka. In the mirror, Suravi could see exactly what she’d become.
She was just like Clover now: unrealistic, like some sort of fictional character instead of a real girl. Her hair had grown much longer, reaching down to her waist, and was partially blue — a few blue streaks in her bangs, then gradually fading to blue where it was bunched into two parts near the bottom. There was a spade clip in her hair, and another spade near the neckline of the flowy blue-and-white dress that came down just above her knees. Her hands were gloved, and even her shoes were blue, paired with long white socks. Every part of her seemed to shine.
This is me. I’m a magical girl.
“Suravi Rahman.”
Suravi almost jumped when she heard the voice. It wasn’t the bird’s voice, or Clover’s, or even Tarot’s; it was a voice she’d never heard before, a feminine voice with a vaguely Chinese accent.
“Look in the mirror. Do you accept how it reflects you?”
Ah, here it was. The choice. The agreement.
Really, though, there wasn’t much of a choice. Either she completed her transformation and fought Tarot off, or he killed her, and Clover, and probably the bird as well.
“I do,” Suravi whispered, her voice somehow steady.
“Then I will grant you the power of hope.”
Against her will, Suravi’s eyes were sliding closed, and the cold night air of San Francisco began to seep in once more, but not before she heard the voice speak once more, though it was so quiet that it was barely audible:
“I am always with you. Never forget, my Lucky Spade.”
Good, Suravi’s transformed.
With a bit of luck, she might just survive.
